Remus
There are three owls perched on his kitchen counter when Remus enters his studio apartment. Startled, Remus stares at them; they stare back unblinkingly, as owls do. Remus contemplates retrieving his wand from the secret spelled compartment in his backpack. One of the owls hoots impatiently and lifts its leg.
Finally, Remus moves, untying the letters; two of them fly off, but one stays. Remus, who barely has enough food to feed himself, does not offer anything to the poor bird, and opts instead to ignore it in favour of the first wizarding mail he has gotten in over a year.
Each envelope is significantly different; one holds the Ministry’s seal and another bares Dumbledore’s name, but the thickest one is by far the strangest, because it is his mother’s handwriting, even though his mother is a muggle and they have been exchanging muggle post since Remus moved to Paris a year and a half ago.
Intrigued, Remus opens his mum’s letter. It holds three things:
- A single, crisp piece of paper in his mother’s familiar stationery, writing only, “Remus, I’m so sorry. Come home when you can. Love, Mum”;
- Muggle money, enough for the train to London from Paris and the subsequent trip to Hope Lupin’s house;
- A newspaper clipping.
Remus pockets the money and frowns at his mother’s cryptic words, but the newspaper quickly catches his attention, because it’s not just any old newspaper—it’s the Prophet. Remus, who has been living entirely in the muggle world for the past seven moons and hasn’t read the Prophet since the War, briefly startles at the reminder that his mother has never stopped following wizarding news, even after her husband had died and her son left magical society. But this thought flits insignificantly through his mind as he stares, in horror, at the headline: “Peter Pettigrew Found Alive, Black Case Reopened.”
The remaining owl’s irritated pecking on Remus’ fingers is what breaks him out of his reverie, staring at the moving image of Peter—Peter, his friend, one of his best friends, Peter, who became an animagus for him, Peter, who he had mourned, whose body they had never found save for his little finger, who was given an Order of Merlin for his bravery during the War—Peter, snarling at the camera one second, crying and begging the next, thrashing against his restraints.
Remus puts the newspaper clipping down and looks at the other two letters. He doesn’t have to guess what the Ministry’s letter might be; after he heard about the Potters (and Sirius, and Peter) and had returned to London from the packs, the Ministry had wasted no time in sending him a summons to provide any information about Death Eaters. Remus, who had relayed all the information he ever knew to Dumbledore and a had deep-set fear and hatred of the Ministry, had ignored said summons. He assumes Dumbledore convinced them to leave him alone, or else they became too busy capturing those who were still around—like Barty Crouch Jr, who had caused quite an uproar. Remus has never questioned it, happy to remain off the Ministry’s radar and new werewolf registry. Unfortunately, it appears that Sirius and Peter have reminded the government that he exists again; fortunately, Remus’ desire to obey them has not changed in the slightest over the years.
Instead, with a deep fortifying breath, Remus turns to Dumbledore’s letter.
My dear Mr. Lupin, it says,
I have some dreadful news, news which I am afraid will upset you greatly—yet, I hope, may also bring you some measure of comfort. It appears that not all was as it seemed with the Potter’s deaths, or the actions of Sirius Black immediately following.
Peter Pettigrew was found, pretending to be a garden rat that one of the Weasley boys was keeping as a pet. Charlie Weasley, the second oldest and aspiring dragon-tamer, had grown curious about the health and longevity of his brother’s rat, and as such attempted to discover its magical properties—and instead found that it was Pettigrew, alive, albeit missing a finger. This, of course, led to much confusion, as Sirius Black was convicted in part for the murder of Pettigrew. Peter Pettigrew has since been brought to custody, and Black’s case re-opened.
I know this must be troubling news for you, my boy, and I hate to bring back bad memories. However, there is a chance, in light of this new information, that Sirius Black is indeed innocent of the crimes he has been accused of. As you are his—and Mr. Pettigrew’s—closest living friend, I felt it important to reach out to you and implore you return to England to assist in the trial. Should either Black or Pettigrew be declared innocent, they will need you to assist them in getting back on their feet and re-joining society.
Perhaps you may consider returning to magical society as well; my offer to write to a friend who might take you in as a university student remains, should you desire to return to your studies.
Yours truly,
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
The trial is quick; by the time Remus arrives at his mother’s house, having finally responded to Dumbledore (the owl wouldn’t leave), hastily packed up all his belongings (there weren’t many, and anyway with the right sort of magic everything fits into the one trunk he owns), informed his landlord of his departure, and bought a one-way ticket to Wales, Hope Lupin is able to receive her son with a fierce hug and the news that Sirius Black has been cleared of all crimes, found innocent; Peter Pettigrew, it seems, was the Potter’s true Secret Keeper, mass murderer, and traitor. Once Remus has recovered from the shock of this news, he goes to the Ministry as bidded, only to be turned away and told that Sirius Black has been admitted to St. Mungo’s, Peter Pettigrew sent to Azkaban, and Remus is no longer needed for questioning.
Still a bit dazed, Remus returns to his mother’s house.
For the next few weeks, Remus contemplates visiting Sirius at St. Mungo’s. His internal debates go something like this: Remus, lying in bed, weighed down by all his guilt, thinks that maybe he should visit Sirius at St. Mungo’s, so that he can see with his own two eyes that Sirius is alive and innocent, and Sirius can see a friendly face to help with his healing. Then Remus remembers that his face may not be a friendly one; they are, after all, ex-lovers, or not even, and the last time Remus had spoken to Sirius, he had been kicked out of their shared flat, accused of being a traitor, and told to never come near him ever again, “or I swear I will kill you, Lupin, don’t think I won’t.” Then Remus will reason that Sirius knows now that he wasn’t the traitor, that Peter was, and Sirius tried to kill Peter, and besides Sirius has not been given his wand back and is in St. Mungo’s and probably couldn’t very well kill him even if he still wanted to. Then Remus wonders what good it would do, going all the way to a hospital to visit a man who wants to kill him and who Remus had spent five years thinking had killed all their friends. By the time this debate is over, Remus finds he is too tired to get up anyway, or it is too late in the day, or that he first needs some tea, or breakfast—lunch—dinner—until excuse after excuse allow him to return to bed, where he smokes and stares at the ceiling instead of sleeping, thinking about Sirius and James and Lily and Peter.
One day, Remus goes as far as the desk of the Mediwitch, twitchy and trying to ignore the fear that he’ll be turned away for being a werewolf. The Mediwitch confirms Sirius’ status at the Janus Thickey Ward—“he’s been moved from the first floor”—and offers to bring him there. Remus, his bravery leaving him at the last minute, stammers a half-hearted excuse, which the Mediwitch interprets as an inability to face a loved one who may not be of his right mind. She kindly—and somewhat pityingly—promises to send Remus updates; “you are, after all, his emergency contact and next of kin outside of Harry Potter.” Remus, mortified, thanks her and flees.
The first update comes the next morning: Mr. Black is making considerable progress, especially for someone who has had such long exposure to Dementors. He is likely missing significant positive memories, as exposure to Dementors leads to memory loss (of happy memories) and a focus on unhappy and suppressed memories. However, he is responding to treatment and eagerly recounting memories, and we are hopeful that with time and the proper triggers, Mr. Black can regain the memories he has lost; speaking about the past with those who were there will be helpful, although we understand that those individuals are limited. We are still worried about his sleep, and occasional periods of hallucination and dissociation that often grow violent; however, we are confident that in about a month, Mr. Black should be well enough to be released from hospital stay. Should you wish to visit him while he is in our care, visiting hours are between 8AM and 6PM.
Remus does not go visit. He does, however, get regular updates, because he also does not write back that they should stop. He is also reminded—gently, but firmly—by his mother that Sirius has nowhere to go after St. Mungo’s, and that perhaps Remus could lend Sirius a hand in that matter, if he won’t visit.
Remus sits on his mother’s couch and contemplates going to see what had happened to Sirius’ flat. It had been his Uncle Alphard’s flat, already paid through, or else Sirius would never have been able to afford a two-bedroom in that area and stay unemployed. It stood to reason that no one would have entered since; perhaps the Aurors—but no, part of the scandal of this trial was that there hadn’t been one, had there, they had simply thrown Sirius into Azkaban without giving him a single hearing, and as such would not have needed to enter Sirius’ flat to find any evidence of Death Eater activity. The wards on that flat were good; both Sirius and Remus were fairly decent at defence, and paranoia during the War was such that they had been sidestepping three booby traps to reach their front door and doing identity checks on each other whenever either of them came into the room—not that it mattered, once they began to doubt each other.
“Perhaps I can go back to the flat,” Remus tells his mother a few days later, “Sirius’ flat, I mean. He should still own it, though I doubt it’s very clean still. When he gets out of the hospital he’ll need a place to stay; I can make sure it’s liveable.”
“That sounds like a lovely idea, Remus,” his mum replies, though her smile does not reach her eyes; Hope Lupin, Remus knows, is of the opinion that Remus should go see Sirius sooner rather than later. She is also of the opinion, however, that Remus needs three meals a day, should go outside more often to take in sun, and ought to look for a job, or write Dumbledore back about perhaps helping him go to university, so Remus is not too worried about failing to meet his mother’s impossible goals for him.
And so, the next time Remus thinks that perhaps he should go visit Sirius, he gets up and instead goes to Sirius’ flat in London.
The wards let him in, although some of the booby traps are gone. With the muggle-repellant charm and only a select few witches or wizards still alive who have ever been there, no one in the past five years has even crossed in front of the door Remus apparates before. Taking a deep fortifying breath, Remus steps in.
The entrance is dusty and dirty, but everything is just as it was when Remus left all those years ago; Sirius’ second-favourite leather jacket hanging beside the raincoat he lent to Remus more than he wore himself, a few pairs of shoes lying neatly underneath them—Remus remembers the playful row they’d had when they first moved in and Sirius insisted on all shoes being taken off and placed neatly by the door, a holdover from his upbringing that he had decided he didn’t hate (your shoes are dirty , Moony! We shared a dorm, Pads, and we never took our shoes off there! ). Sirius had always been exceptionally tidy, Remus recalls, spelling away the dirt and dust at the entryway and toeing off his shoes with a small smile.
This seems to hold true for the living room, which is devoid of all clutter save for a book resting casually on the armchair and a vinyl lying dusty on the player. Remus cleans the room and the record, noting with shock that it is Heroes , which Sirius had gifted Remus a month after moving in together, as a “housewarming” present. Remus had left the vinyl, along with all his other music (and the record player, which technically they shared), when he had packed up and never returned. Did that mean Sirius had been listening to it, after he was gone? Had he been reminiscing the day he had given it to him, or the other times they had played the song, singing or dancing or screaming their hearts out to it? With a sad smile, Remus taps the player with his wand, closing his eyes as familiar music begins to play.
“I know what will make you feel better,” Sirius declared once, a few days after Remus had finally returned from a long-term secret mission to the werewolf packs; he had missed a second full moon in order to run with the pack, and as such Sirius had been alternating between giving him the cold shoulder and hovering over him worriedly. Sirius strode over to the record player while Remus watched him from the sofa where he had been parked with a mug of tea and a book.
“Music?” Remus asked, amused. “Music will heal the bruise over my ribs and the still-healing cursed scar on my face?”
“Not just any music; Bowie.” Sirius flashed a grin over his shoulder, and Remus grinned helplessly back, pulling slightly at the soft tissue by his temple.
“Oh, well, if it’s Bowie…”
The record player started up, scratchy music tinning out of the speakers. Sirius grinned at Remus as Bowie started singing.
‘I, I will be king
And you, you will be queen…’
Humming along, Sirius moved to where Remus sat. He took Remus’ hands and started swaying, rocking side to side, coaxing Remus into standing.
“Padfoot… I’m still recovering!” Remus complained, but he didn’t feel any pain.
“We could be heroes,” Sirius sang, “Just for one day…” He shimmied closer with a move so ridiculous Remus had to laugh. “Dance with me, Moony!”
Smiling, Remus copied Sirius, stepping closer and closer to the man.
‘Cause we’re lovers
And that is a fact
Yes we’re lovers
That is that’
Sirius’ arms went around Remus, and their silly movements faded into a sway, and Sirius’ head rested on Remus’ shoulder. Remus let Sirius’ familiar scent wash over him, and gave into the urge to press a light kiss on his crown. Sirius tightened his arms around him in response. This was making him feel better; how did Sirius always know what Remus needed?
‘Though nothing will keep us together
We can beat them, for ever and ever’
“We can be heroes,” Sirius and Remus sang together, quietly, “just for one day.”
Remus closed his eyes, cheek resting against Sirius’ head, listening to Bowie, swaying lightly, feeling Sirius mouth the words against his shoulder.
“We can be heroes
We’re nothing, and nothing will help us
Maybe we’re lying, then you better not stay
But we could be safer, just for one day.”
As the music fades, Remus opens his eyes again and gets back to work with cleaning. He pushes any thoughts of Sirius sitting alone in the flat, listening to the song that had given them hope during a war that seemed endless, and realising that nothing would keep them together.
Remus starts in the living room, dusting and scourgify -ing surfaces, getting rid of cobwebs and a dead rat, then moves to the kitchen—as neat as Remus remembers it, and although there seems to be fewer dishes than Remus remembers them having, he dutifully sets them to wash themselves in the sink.
Watching the dishes spring up as if by an invisible hand, Remus remembers the first time Sirius showed him the spell. Living on their own right outside of Hogwarts, the two had been shocked to discover that they were required to cook and clean and do their own laundry. Sirius, unused to living around mess or dirt, had immediately looked up cleaning spells, but Remus, who had been tasked to wash the dishes after Sirius cooked, had simply decided to wash them the muggle way. Sirius had stared in wonder as Remus scrubbed the pan at the sink, unable to comprehend the amount of time and effort muggles spent on such mundane chores. Remus had admitted that he generally did not mind washing dishes by hand, as he had been taught to do so by his mother, but when it was closer to the moon and pain flared across his body more easily, things could become more difficult. The next day, Sirius had taught him the dishwashing charm he learned from Lily; Remus hadn’t thought much about it at the time, but later began noticing that Sirius tended to volunteer to do the more physical chores closer to the moon—that is, when they were still on good enough terms to volunteer and negotiate domestic tasks.
The small dining table in the kitchen has just as many (metaphorical) ghosts. Countless breakfasts, lunches, and dinners, Remus sitting on one side and Sirius on the other, kicking each other’s shins under the table while they bantered, or talked about the war, or—towards the end—made mistrusting, passive-aggressive comments at each other. Laying a hand on the (now-clean) worn wood, Remus remembers coming home one day with the groceries, to find Sirius cooking in the kitchen, record on in the living room, as if it were the beginning of 1979 instead of 1981, as if it hadn’t been days since they had seen each other last, as if they hadn’t begun taking turns with the Potters in-between missions so they could continue to avoid each other at home. Remus remembers that surge of relief at the sight, the pang of longing at the smell of dinner, and the wariness, the bone-deep exhaustion that had only been partially because of the upcoming moon.
“Padfoot?” Remus called, entering the kitchen and setting his groceries on their small dining table.
“Moony! I thought you’d come back from your mission,” Sirius grinned at him, an unabashed, open grin Remus hadn’t seen in ages, and it suddenly didn’t matter that Remus had been back almost a week, and Sirius had not been there to welcome him home.
“Been at the Potter’s?” Remus said, casually instead of accusatorially like he’d initially planned. He began putting his food away, pleasantly surprised to find that Sirius had also stocked up; perhaps he was going to stay more than the next day or so, more than just the moon tomorrow.
“Yeah—Harry’s been the best, growing so fast—I thought I’d help James and Lily out a bit, y’know, give them a break for a day or two. They offered to let me stay tonight as well, but I said I had a roommate to catch; thought we could have dinner together? If you don’t have plans, that is.” Sirius looked so hopeful that Remus would never have been able to deny him, even if he had wanted to.
“No real plans; full’s tomorrow, I was just gonna go to bed early with some tea.”
“Knew it; you never eat properly around the moon.” Sirius frowned, and for a brief moment anger welled up inside Remus, and he wanted to grab Sirius by the shoulders and shout, so what? What does that matter, when I’m in pain, and I can feel the moon pulling, and my insides are writhing, trying to make their way out of my skin? Why do you even care if I eat, when it won’t satiate the monster inside of me?
Instead, Remus moved to sit at the dining table and said nothing, laid his hands flat on the surface, as if to prove they were not shaking, that he was not angry.
“You’ll eat tonight, then?” Sirius asked, turning back to the stove, “I’m making Mum’s curry.” Remus had already guessed as such, from the mouth-watering aroma that permeated the flat, but the warmth in Sirius’ voice when he said Euphemia’s name dispelled the bit of anger in Remus.
“Well, if you’re making curry, how could I resist?”
Sirius flashed a grin at him over his shoulder. “I’ve gotten better at it since I first tried; still not as good as Mum’s, but better than James’. And don’t worry, it’s not too spicy, I know you can’t take real heat,” Sirius teased. The first time Sirius had tried making Euphemia Potter’s curry after moving in, not only had Sirius overcooked it, he had also decided that adding more spice would sufficiently hide that fact; Remus had taken one bite, then spent the rest of dinner chugging water. James and Sirius, who had both grown up eating more spice than Remus, had never let a moment pass where they could tease him about his weakling spice tolerance.
“Sod off, Padfoot, at least I’ve got tastebuds,” Remus replied good-naturedly.
They bantered back and forth as Sirius cooked, and the warmth from the stove made its way into Remus’ chest, as he let the last few months drop away, the stress of the war and the terror in the werewolf packs, and the secrecy and whispers of a traitor in their midst. None of that mattered, not while Padfoot was handing him a plate of Euphemia Potter’s curry and sitting across from him, trading teasing remarks.
The curry was as good as always; Sirius’ best dish, the one he spent the most time perfecting and learning, the one he always made with love, with his memories of the Potters. Remus hadn’t had his curryin ages, since the tension had risen between the two, and eating it now, he felt as if all was well again, all forgiven or forgotten. He grinned across the table at Sirius and dug in, and didn’t feel as though his insides were clawing out of his skin despite how close the moon was.
Halfway through the dinner, though, Sirius said his name, and there was something in his voice that made Remus pause, and look up. They made eye contact, and Remus saw Sirius take a deep breath.
“I love you,” Sirius said, and Remus looked away, but Sirius kept going, “I love you, as in I’m in love with you, as in—romantically, and I think—I think maybe you love me too, and—“
“Sirius, stop.” There the beast was, crawling up his throat, squeezing his heart, laughing at him. Remus shoved the monster away. “Sirius… you don’t love me.” Calm , Remus reminded himself, you’ve got to stay calm.
“What? Yes I do, Moony—“
“No, you don’t. You think you do—let me finish, Pads. You care about me, we’re friends, close friends, even best friends. And I understand that it’s gotten—complicated—recently, and that might have confused you, but you don’t love me like that. You just wish you did.”
“Wish I did? …Like I wish you loved me back?”
“Sirius, you’re my best friend. I do care about you, just—“
“You don’t love me. You’ll fuck me but you won’t love me.” There was something bitter and blank in Sirius’ voice, and Remus squeezed his eyes shut.
I can’t! Some part of Remus screamed, I can’t love you, and you can’t love me, because I ruin everything I love, and so do you. That’s why you’re safe, why I can sleep with you, because I know I can never love you and you will never love me.
“No,” Remus said instead, opening his eyes and forcing himself to make eye contact with Sirius, “I don’t. And you don’t either,” he added, “we’re just very good friends.”
What a lie that had been, Remus muses now, hand on Sirius’ chair, wry smile on his face. The greatest lie he had ever told; that he didn’t love Sirius Black, when he had been head over heels for him since before he knew what love was. How great of a lie, that even he had believed it until it was too late, until the knowledge of his love could be nothing more than a noose around his neck, an inability to hate Sirius for all that he had done—to him, to the Potters, to Peter—but no, Sirius is innocent, now, and Remus doesn’t have to hate Sirius, and he can forgive him. If only it were that easy.
With a sigh, Remus continues on to the bedrooms, starting with what had been his, wondering what Sirius might have done to it in the months after Remus had moved out. Opening the door, however, he discovers that Sirius had done absolutely nothing to the room; the wardrobe is still open from the hurried packing he’d done that night; the alarm clock that Sirius had thrown is still in pieces on the wall; even the bed is still rumpled as if someone had just woken up from it. Shocked and hit with the memory of that night, Remus staggers back and shuts the door, pressing his forehead against it, breathing ragged.
Moments later, Remus takes a deep breath and turns to Sirius’ room, shutting all the memories away, unwilling to remember all the times they had tumbled into bed seeking pleasure, or even worse, the nights Remus had slipped under the covers beside Sirius after a nightmare, giving or gaining comfort. But opening the door, Remus finds a room wholly unlike how Remus remembers it; clothes are strewn about, hanging out of the wardrobe and lying in piles everywhere; books open as if they had been thrown at a wall and left on the floor, spines crying out; a few dried-out mugs of tea, decayed over the years. It looks as if Sirius had taken his violent tantrum from Remus’ room—where the damage had, admittedly, been minimal, with the only casualty his alarm clock, flung far from Remus himself—and instead laid waste to his own room, then proceeded to leave the mess right where it was and live around it. Unbidden, Remus thinks of the room in the Shrieking Shack that he had found himself in, after Dumbledore had told him the news about James and Lily and Peter and Sirius.
He looked around, in this building that had kept his deepest darkest secret, this building which had housed the wolf and his pack, a prison with an open door. Most of the furniture was still in tact, and some of the cabinets even held a pain potion or two, which Sirius had kept stocked even though they no longer spent full moons there. Remus even noticed a book that Sirius had once complained about losing, the nest of mangy blankets and pillows Padfoot had made in seventh year “in case Moony wants to sleep tonight” sitting next to the rat maze James and Remus had made Wormtail as a joke. All four of them, in this building, Remus’ best and worst memories, filled with pain and belonging, and Remus. Just Remus, now. There was no one else.
I’m all alone , Remus thought. Everyone else is gone. Because of him. Because of Sirius fucking Black.
Part of him rebelled at the thought, was unable to comprehend. That James and Peter were gone and Remus was still here. James, kind, caring, heart-of-gold James, whose presence was so much larger than life that everyone thought him invincible; Peter, poor, poor Peter, always stumbling after James and trying to escape his shadow at the same time, who Sirius had always overlooked but who had kept their friend group together whenever it seemed things were becoming too much like the JamesandSirius show. And Lily, sweet, smart Lily, quick with her wand as well as her wit, one of Remus’ first real friends. She and James had just had Harry, were just starting their life together, and now they were both gone. How could they be gone? While Remus, the werewolf, the boy who lived knowing each month could be his last, who threw himself into the war with reckless abandon and no plans to make it out, was still breathing, still standing here in the room he thought might one day be his tomb.
And Sirius—oh, clever, cruel Sirius. How could he have done this?
The beast bubbled up inside, unable to think about Sirius. Sirius, whose stupid pain potions were still in that cabinet—Remus had the door open and the bottles smashed before he could stop himself. The anger, the hurt, that Remus had been carrying since the last time he had seen Sirius, six months ago, the feelings of betrayal Remus had shoved down and told himself he didn’t feel, surged up through him like a tidal wave. With a yell, Remus threw his shoulder into the cabinet and broke it. Then he attacked the stupid wolf bed Sirius had made, ripping the fraying fabrics apart with a snarl. He grabbed the book Sirius must’ve left after reading it before a moon and tore it apart, page by page, imagining that each page was one of Sirius’ fingers, then his limbs, his eyes, and then the Sirius in his mind’s eye became himself, and Remus kept tearing and tearing, until he and Sirius were both laying bloody and broken in pieces, and Remus found he was sobbing and screaming, his hands bleeding from a thousand paper cuts.
Remus closes the door to Sirius’ room and leaves the flat.
He does not return for another week, after he gets another note updating him about Sirius’ progress, and it would benefit him greatly if you visited, so you might help Mr. Black recall fond memories . He cleans and tidies up the flat mechanically, using muggle means to make the process slower and more physical, giving nothing more than a single passing thought.
He never again debates about going to visit Sirius.